


The Heroic, the Guilty, and the Dead

by 0shadow_panther0



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: (dont worry they still fall in love), (hopefully), Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anachronisms, Dark Fantasy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epic Battles, Gen, Lovecraftian Monster(s), Slow Burn, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-02-02 06:25:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12721332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0shadow_panther0/pseuds/0shadow_panther0
Summary: A knight, a noblewoman, and a highwayman walk into a bar. What Happens Next Will Shock You.Or-As a wretched Blight wreaks havoc and spreads across the country of Astus, a ragtag, motley crew of adventurers- a disgraced noblewoman, a former bandit, a righteous paladin- search for a cure for the ruined land and attempt to find redemption among the wreckage.Perhaps the real treasure is the friends they find along the way.





	1. it begins, as such stories do, in a tavern

The pouring rain was sharp and unrelenting. The winds blew droplets near-horizontal, stinging his cheeks as painfully as hail. Dismas tugged the edge of his scarf higher in an attempt to protect himself from the biting gales.

“Damn,” he muttered, squinting blearily. He could hardly see ten feet in front of him for all the rain. The road was muddy beyond measure, and his waterlogged boots sloshed with every step. Hell, his waterlogged _everything_ sloshed. His poor guns were probably useless, the gunpowder soaked as it was.

He needed to find shelter, and fast- the encroaching numbness in his face and limbs told him that much, and he was certain that his lips were blue. “ _Damn_.”

There was a rumbling sound from behind him, barely audible above the roar of the rain, and Dismas barely managed to throw himself out of the way of a massive horse.

“God’s _sake_ -!” he snarled, heart pounding.

The horse- and rider- drew to a stop.

“Hail, traveler,” they called. A heavy cloak obscured their form and features, and Dismas couldn't hear their voice well past the rain enough to distinguish anything other than their words. “You seek shelter?”

He eyed them warily. “Aye,” he said, loud enough so it would not be carried away by the wind.

The horse stomped its hooves impatiently, eager to be out of the storm, and the rider soothed it with a gentle hand. “My hometown is less than a mile down,” they said. “You are welcome to join me.”

“My thanks,” Dismas replied curtly, “but I have plans-”

“The next settlement is over two leagues away,” the rider said. “If your plan is to brave the storm, I wish you luck.”

Dismas frowned as he mulled over the offer. He wished he had his map to confirm the stranger’s words, but the parchment had long since disintegrated under the onslaught of rain.

On one hand, he hadn't lasted as long as he had by trusting every offer or petty kindness from random strangers on the road, but on the other hand, he really wanted to be out of this damned rain.

The rider was still waiting for an answer.

“...Fine,” he grumbled.

“Would you like to ride with me?” they asked. Dismas swore he could hear the smile in their voice. “It’s not far, but I imagine walking would be unpleasant.”

He glanced at the beast. It certainly looked big enough to hold the two of them- he wasn't a particularly large man to begin with- but the damned thing had nearly trampled him a minute ago. The saddle didn’t look particularly roomy either.

But the alternative was trudging down the muddy, pit-filled road.

They were still waiting, surprisingly patient even as they remained in the downpour.

Dismas hesitated. “...Thank you,” he said grudgingly, and took the hand they offered and swung himself onto the horse, settling just behind the rider. It was a tight fit, and Dismas found himself nearly flush with their back.

The horse snorted and threw its head back, stamping its hooves, and his hands reflexively reached forward to steady himself, grabbing the rider by the waist.

Dismas blinked. Their waist was... rather slender, he thought. A woman, perhaps.

A snap of the reins, and the horse took off at a gallop, and Dismas’ grip turned white-knuckled and bruising, although the rider made no comment.

As if making up for the time lost waiting on him, the beast surged down the road, mud splattering everywhere and thundering hoofbeats melding with the sound of the rain until they were indistinguishable.

Dismas grit his teeth and held on for dear life. The logical part of his mind told him the ride would take no more than five minutes, and that he was perfectly safe.

Of course, fear was never logical, and it took every ounce of willpower not to tighten his grip any further.

Peering over the rider’s shoulder, Dismas could barely make out the silhouette of the rapidly nearing buildings- the telltale spire of a church, the sloped roof of a tavern, the imposing shadow of a manor.

The rider drew to a stop by the tavern and dismounted, Dismas nearly catching himself on the saddle in his haste to be off the damn beast.

A scraggly boy took the reins from her and led the horse around the back and out of sight, but Dismas paid him little more than a cursory glance before following the rider into the tavern.

The tavern was small and rather dilapidated, but it was also warm and dry, and to Dismas it was as fine as any palace. It was largely vacant, but that was to be expected. A town as small as this- and this close to the edge of the Blight, at that- wasn't likely to have many visitors.

There were scarce few other patrons in the tavern, scattered across the booths and tables. An old, sickly man, a weary-looking couple, and-

A knight.

Dismas’ eyes narrowed. An odd sight, to be sure. He was dressed in a well-worn, chainmail hauberk, helm settled at his elbow and longsword at his hip. A heavy kiteshield leaned against the chair, emblem of the church emblazoned on its face.

A paladin, then, Dismas concluded, returning his gaze forward. Pursuing a holy mission.

Good lot faith did against the Blight.

An elderly bartender minded the counter, and they made their way over, Dismas easing himself onto a stool.

“Butter rum,” he muttered, sliding a few dripping coins across the bar counter. “Hot as you can make it.”

He shrugged out of his sopping coat and unwound the soaked scarf from his neck, wringing out what he could into a nearby potted plant.

The mysterious rider settled in beside him, and Dismas studied them from the corner of his eye as they removed their cloak.

“The same for me, please,” they said, voice rough and quiet.

The bartender did a doubletake. “Y-your ladyship?” he stuttered, eyes wide.

Dismas tilted his head. _Ladyship_?

She smiled tiredly. “Hello, Mikhail,” she said. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

The bartender stared, wide-eyed. “Gods above,” he whispered. “I never thought I’d see you again. The Blight-”

“I know,” she said quietly.

Mikhail caught his eye and suddenly seemed to remember he had patrons and bustled off, filling tankards with alcohol, sliding one to Dismas wordlessly.

Dismas nursed his stoup between his chilled hands, taking small sips of the steaming, sweet rum and warily eyeing the woman next to him.

“I realize now that I never asked for your name,” she said conversationally. “I am Ailith.”

“...Dismas,” he grunted after a moment’s pause.

She flashed him a brief smile, and Dismas took the moment to look her over more carefully. She was dressed in well-worn clothes, the fabric faded and having seen better days, but Dismas could see that they were once quite fine- the fray at the hems where embroidery had once been, but long since picked off, and the vividness of the dyed cloth despite its obvious age.

Old wealth, he thought, drumming his fingers along the cup. Nobility, perhaps. Not anymore, judging by the state of her things.

“What were you doing so far north?” Ailith asked, eyes glinting with genuine curiosity. “There isn't much around.” A beat. “And for good reason.”

“I wander,” Dismas answered curtly.

 _Not only a coward, but a liar_ , hissed a voice in the back of his mind. _And a fool besides. You should know you cannot run from the crimes you have committed._

“Wandering straight into Blight-ridden land?” she replied, disbelieving.

Dismas ducked his head slightly. “Not many have use for my skill set,” he said. “I thought perhaps I would be more valuable in… this area.”

Ailith’s gaze flickered to the holsters that housed his precious flintlocks, then to the wicked blade sheathed at his thigh.

“I may have work for you,” she said, “if you find yourself desperate enough.”

He let out a low huff. “How desperate should I be to accept such an ominous offer?” he asked dryly.

Her expression was grim and tight. “Very.”

Dismas paused then, observing her quietly. He stared at her levelly, silent and considerate.

He set down his cup. “What can you tell me about this job?”

“What I can tell you,” Ailith said, “is that there is a far greater chance of death than there is of money and glory.”

Dismas leaned forward. “Miss Ailith,” he said, “I am a man with very little to lose. Such warnings do not scare me.”

Still, she hesitated. She swallowed thickly. “I am in need of an escort,” she said, “to travel with me to the old capital.”

Dismas’ first reaction was a snort of laughter.

Ailith glared at him, eyes narrowed. “If that is your response,” she snapped, “then perhaps I was remiss for asking you-”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, I-” He blinked. “You’re serious.”

She pursed her lips. “Indeed.”

Dismas’ breath escaped him in a puff of disbelief. “What in God’s name do you need to do in the heart of the Blight?” he asked incredulously.

“To stop it,” she said.

“ _Stop_ it?” he repeated. “And how do you plan to do that?”

Ailith opened her mouth to answer, and the doors to the tavern burst open, the roars of men echoing in the small room, and Dismas turned sharply.

Immediately, the elderly man and the couple hastened to leave, skirting around the walls to flee through the back door.

“What a shit hole,” one of the men barked, and the others howled with laughter.

Brigands, Dismas noted, a scowl slashing its way across his mouth. Half a dozen exactly. He eyed their ratty leather armor and grimy, ill-kept weaponry with disdain.

Then he noticed the knight.

He remained still and calm in the midst of the bandits’ clamouring, nursing a steaming cup with little regard for the ruckus around him.

Apparently, his apathy drew the brigands’ attention.

“What’s this?” a particularly large marauder jeered. “A choir boy? Your fuckin’ God ain’t worth _shit_ ‘round here, _boy_.”

The paladin tilted his head, calm and collected. “It would be wise,” he said, voice deep and low and frigid, “not to mock the faith of others.”

“And what will you do, little choir boy?” the brigand sneered. “Pray to your God to smite me?”

The others broke into raucous laughter, and Dismas watched intently as the knight slowly rose to his feet.

The bandit noticed and drew his blade- a rusted, ugly knife that didn’t so much as glint under the light. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The noise of the rest quieted as the knight and the brigand faced each other.

“Answer me, you fuckin’ bastard!” he snarled, levelling his knife at the knight’s throat. “You-!”

There was a clash of metal-on-metal and the bandit’s knife went skittering away, and suddenly the bandit was on his knees, wrist twisted painfully as the knight forced him down with one hand.

There was absolute silence for several long moments.

The room exploded into action.

The knight twisted the bandit’s arm until there was a sick crack and the man screamed with pain before promptly kicking him to the side- one of his companions lunged, knife in hand, and blade deflected off the knight’s pauldron harmlessly as he sidestepped.

Dismas’ hands twitched to his guns- no, he thought, they were useless because of the wet, the gunpowder soaked with rain- and reluctantly unsheathed his dirk, the narrow blade keen and wicked.

Ailith reached over the counter- “Hide,” she whispered to the bartender- and grabbed a heavy quarterstaff, hidden behind the empty tankards, and vaulted over an abandoned table and leapt into the fray, Dismas on her heels.

One of the bandits was readying an unwieldy rifle- Dismas swept up behind him and slipped his blade in between his ribs, and he fell with a gurgle, gun clattering to the ground, and Dismas turned just in time to see the knight unsheath his sword and bash a lunging bandit with the pommel to send him sprawling, and finished him off with a downward stab.

Beside him, Ailith parried a slash from another with her staff, the dagger barely nicking the dense wood, and brought the weapon down on him twice with brutal efficiency- the first blow came down on his wrist, and the bandit cried out, and the second met his skull with a sickening crack and silenced him as he dropped like a stringless marionette.

With over half their number felled, the remaining bandits, now outnumbered, seemed hesitant to engage. When Dismas took a step forward, dirk gleaming with the blood of one of their own, they fled through the doors and back out into the rain, leaving lifeless bodies of their comrades behind.

The paladin watched the door slam shut and Dismas flicked his blade, blood splattering on the floor.

“My thanks for your assistance,” the knight said, turning to them. His face was stern and solemn, but his eyes were warm. “I doubt I could have fended them all off on my own.”

“Of course,” Ailith said.

Dismas grunted noncommittally, crouching down to wipe the blood off his dirk on the coat of one of the fallen bandits.

Ailith blinked, suddenly turning heel and rushing back to the counter. “Mikhail?” she called.

“Here, Ladyship,” the older man wheezed, peering up over the bar.

The paladin quirked his head. “Ladyship?”

Dismas turned and leaned against the counter, stabbing his dirk so it stood, point down, in the wood and retrieving his mug of rum. It was barely lukewarm, and he took a long gulp, the cloying sweetness thick against his tongue.

“Perhaps you should introduce yourself first before asking others,” Ailith said lightly, leaning the quarterstaff against the edge of the table.

The knight seemed mildly surprised, eyes widening for just a moment before he let out a small huff of laughter.

“My apologies,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I am Reynauld, a paladin of the church.”

She smiled. “You may call me Ailith,” she introduced herself.

The two of them looked at Dismas expectantly.

He huffed. “Dismas,” he said curtly. He thumbed the end of his sleeve, fruitlessly rubbing the damp blood from the cloth.

Reynauld’s eyes studied him coolly, took in his still-damp clothes and gleaming dirk.

“If you two need boards for the night, it’s free,” Mikail said, and Dismas nearly flinched at the sound of the bartender’s voice. “It’s the least I could do.”

Ailith’s eyes flickered to the four bodies on the floor. “I’ll help you clean up,” she said.

“Please, allow me,” Reynauld said. “It was on my behalf you had intervene, after all.”

Before anyone could protest, he hefted the largest of the bodies up and slung it over his shoulder effortlessly. “If I remember correctly, the cemetery is down the road?”

“Just leave it with the trash outside,” Mikhail said. “I’ll send someone to take care of it when the rain stops.”

Reynauld inclined his head, and, as if for show, picked up another one of the brigands by the collar with his free hand as if he were holding a kitten by the scruff.

When Reynauld had cleared out the bodies, Ailith treated him to another drink, and Mikhail mopped up what blood he could.

“What brings a proper knight such as yourself to this town?” Ailith asked, drumming her fingers along the counter.

“I am on a holy mission,” he replied. “I seek to aid those whose homes are threatened by the Blight.”

Dismas grimaced, dragging his seat closer to the fire.

Reynauld nursed his steaming drink, quietly observing her. “May I ask why you are here, as well?” he questioned.

She smiled tightly. “Just looking for help,” she said.

“If I might I offer assistance-?” Reynauld began.

“Don’t bother, paladin,” Dismas scoffed. “She wants to go to the old capital.” He took another swig of his drink “She wants to stop the Blight.”

Ailith sent him a sharp look before turning to face Reynauld. “He is correct,” she said.

The knight caught Dismas’ gaze for a moment. “And I assume he rejected your proposition?” he said.

“Whether or not he goes with me is little concern,” she said. “My plans will not change, with or without company.”

“What would prompt such devotion to such a cause?” Reynauld pressed.

“A death wish,” Dismas commented acerbically.

Ailith let out a huff of laughter, but the warmth on her face melted away quickly, and she remained in stoic silence for several long moments.

She caught Dismas gaze for just a second, and something unreadable flashed in her eyes.

“My full name,” she said slowly. “Is Ailith Ulfhilda Lovell.”

Dismas froze, and the drink turned bitter in his mouth. “Lovell,” he said flatly, “is not a well-loved name.”

“Indeed,” Ailith murmured into her cup. “‘Tis the name of the court magician who caused the Blight. And he is my uncle.”

Reynauld made a small, disbelieving noise in his throat. “I aware that a royal decree was issued for the entirety of the Lovell family to be… massacred,” he said.

“I was a bastard child,” she answered shortly. “I did not live with the rest of my family.” She laughed humorlessly. “Such was my luck, then, that I was spared.”

“And now you seek to right the wrongdoings of your uncle,” Reynauld said. “A righteous cause, to be sure.”

Ailith scoffed, running her hands through her hair. “If only,” she muttered.

DIsmas tilted his head, but all she did was avoid his gaze.

“So,” she said, “that is my story. Will you join me?”

“I will,” Reynauld said immediately. “There is no more noble cause than your’s. I would be honored to accompany you.”

“As would I,” Dismas said.

Ailith turned her quizzical gaze towards him and Reynauld’s eyebrows raised slightly, and even Dismas himself was surprised by his own readiness to accept.

He exhaled softly. “I told you earlier, didn’t I, Lady Lovell?” he said dryly, “I have very little to lose. I do not fear danger.”

She let out a short laugh. “Ailith is fine,” she said. “Rank means little in times like these.” She glanced down, smile fading. “Although… are you sure? I have little to offer now.”

“If we succeed, I imagine simply being able end the Blight would be reward enough,” Reynauld said.

Dismas grinned wryly into his mug. “All things aside,” he said, “while I may be willing to risk my life, I’m not so inclined to throw it away.”

“Do you have a suggestion?” Ailith asked.

Dismas shrugged. “Gather more recruits,” he said. “I doubt three people charging headlong into the Blight would last very long.”

Ailith’s eyes gleamed mischievously. The expression suited her. “Recruitment posters, perhaps,” she said. “‘Heroes wanted.’”

Dismas snorted. “Heroes?” he said. “Where on Earth will you find those?”

She grinned. “I’ve already found two,” she said. “Finding more shouldn’t be hard.”

He shook his head ruefully. “Miss Ailith,” he said, “I am anything but a hero.”

“Then prove otherwise,” Reynauld said suddenly. He looked Dismas in the eye, gaze unwavering. “That is what this country needs.”


	2. the usual suspects

Ailith left them to their own devices soon after.

“I have my own estate here- my childhood home,” she said by means of explanation. “There is still much I need to explain- I suggest you rest well tonight.”

The bartender- Mikhail- stayed true to his word and granted them rooms for the night, sliding small iron keys to them and directing them upstairs. 

Dismas finished his rum before he retired, grunting his thanks to the bartender and retrieving his duster and scarf before retreating to his room.

Dismas took the advantage of the calm to sit floor by the small hearth and maintain his guns, taking them apart piece by piece and wiping them down, cleaning out the useless soaked gunpowder. Each part was wiped down with a rag to dry, and then polished with an oiled cloth and set aside. It was a task soothing in its monotony and comforting in its familiarity. 

It was easy to fall into a dreamy lull, the crackle of the fire coupled with the sound of rain a soothing background to supplement his ministrations.

The quiet was interrupted by a sharp knock on his door, and he let out a sigh of exasperation, ignoring it as best he could.

The knock came again, louder this time, accompanied by the sound of a muffled and unwelcome voice.

“Pardon,” said Reynauld, “but I would like to talk to you.”

“Pay no heed to the fact that I would not,” Dismas grumbled, purposely low.

Reluctantly, he stood and unlocked the door. 

“Knight,” he greeted curtly.

“Dismas,” Reynauld replied cordially in turn. “I wished-”

“To speak with me, I know,” Dismas said. “So speak.”

Seemingly unperturbed by the interruption, Reynauld paused to compose himself for only a moment before he spoke. 

“What are your motivations?” he asked bluntly.

Dismas raised an eyebrow. “Is it so hard believe that I would undertake this journey out of devotion to my country?” he said dryly.

“Yes.”

Dismas snorted. “Clever one, aren’t you?” he said.

“I did not come here for games-” Reynauld started.

“And I do not remember asking for your inquiries,” Dismas cut in, crossing his arms with no small irritation. “If that is all you have to say, I suggest you leave.”

And with that, Dismas slammed the door in the knight’s face and returned to his guns.

Reynauld didn’t bother to knock again.

\---

When Dismas finally emerged from his room the following morning, Ailith and Reynauld were already seated at one of the small square tables, talking quietly.

Reynauld noticed him first, eyes narrowing and the corners of his mouth twisting slightly.

Ailith glanced up at him, a smile, small but genuine, tugging at her lips. “Dismas,” she called. “Good morning.”

“Hm,” Dismas replied, pulling out a chair and sitting in between them. His eyes flickered over her features briefly- her mouth had a soft, exhausted edge to it, and familiar shadowy bags marred her eyes. She looked like she had not slept at all the night before, despite her cheery demeanor.

Mikhail brought food- simple but steaming hot, and he couldn’t ask for more- and exchanged a few words with Ailith. 

Dismas only half-listened, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, pointedly not looking at Reynauld. He could feel the knight’s burning gaze on him, and he closed his eyes, as if dozing.

He heard Reynauld scoff- a tiny huff of a thing that made Dismas more amused than irritated. 

The smell of porridge and the a rumble of hunger prompted him to open his eyes. The bowl sat in front of him, wisps of steam curling up from its surface. 

“Miss Ailith,” Reynauld interjected politely, and she looked up, startled.

A spark of realization flashed in her eyes and she gave a surprised laugh. “My apologies,” she said. “I was explaining some things to Sir Reynauld before you arrived, Dismas. I suppose I should catch you up as well.”

Dismas inclined his head. “Of course,” he said, and took a bite of the porridge. 

Ailith fidgeted for a moment. “As you know,” she said, “my uncle- the court magician- opened a rift to… somewhere else. It unleashed monsters, poisoned the land, and very nearly destroyed the capital.” She paused, the corners of her mouth tight. “He died in the process.”

He nodded. Practically everyone in the country knew how the Blight how started eighteen years ago. The name Lovell was well-hated.

“The rift is still open,” Ailith continued. “That is why the Blight still spreads. It is only a matter of time before the country is consumed, and perhaps it will not stop there.” Her hands, neatly folded in her lap, balled into fists. “But if I can close the rift, then I can stop the spread, if end not end the Blight in its entirety.”

Dismas sat in silence for several long moments, mulling over her words and absent-mindedly stirring his porridge. 

“If I may ask,” Reynauld said, “how do you plan to close the rift? To my knowledge, many other mages have tried and failed.”

“I share my uncle’s blood,” Ailith said. “That is the key factor.”

“If all we needed was a mage of his bloodline, then perhaps His Majesty was remiss in executing the whole family,” Dismas commented acerbically.

“...Not exactly,” Ailith murmured softly, her gaze distant.

Dismas frowned, tilting his head to look at her directly, but she did not elaborate.

Ailith blinked, as if suddenly returning to her senses. “In all seriousness, I thought about your suggestion,” she told him. “About recruiting others. It is a long journey, after all. I thought we could travel around the edges of the Blighted land- I imagine we would find hardier people there.”

“A reasonable plan,” the knight seconded. “There is strength in numbers, especially in times like these.”

Ailith smiled, then hesitated. “I can afford accommodations and food while we travel,” she said slowly, “but at the moment I do not have much in the way of monetary compensation.”

“Don’t need it,” Dismas said offhandedly. 

Reynauld, who had just been about to say something, paused, eyeing Dismas as if he had sprouted an extra head.

Ailith, while not as shocked, did seem slightly surprised. “If you’re sure,” she said slowly.

He nodded shortly and returned to his food.

Dismas spent the rest of the meal in silence, listening with one ear as Reynauld and Ailith engaged in mild-mannered conversation.

Reynauld described his holy mission in more detail- Dismas pointedly ignored most of that- and Ailith outlined her plan a little more thoroughly, producing a map and unrolling on the table.

“If we travel along here-” she drew a curved line with a finger along the parchment- “we can avoid the brunt of the Blight. There are still a few towns- even a city or two- and we can likely find people there.”

“We looking for anyone in particular?” Dismas asked. 

Ailith absentmindedly drummed her fingers on the table, brow furrowed. “In all honesty, I would accept any who are willing,” she admitted. “Such an undertaking cannot be picky about its company.”

“There is a church here, is there not?” Reynauld said. “We could ask one of the brothers or sisters if they are willing to offer their skills.”

Ailith beamed up at him. “An excellent idea,” she said brightly. “We can visit once breakfast is done.”

Dismas grunted noncommittally, returning his attention to his meal. He hadn’t expected them to take his suggestion to heart and wondered if it was really worth the trouble of it all. 

He took a leisurely bite of his food, once again ignoring Reynauld’s cool gaze. 

Ailith stood. “Actually,” she said, “I think I might go now.”

The knight began to stand, but the younger woman shook her head. “Please, take your time,” she said. “I have other business to take care of while I am here.” She smiled briefly and bustled away.

Dismas sighed through his nose. Left alone with Reynauld again.

To be fair, the knight didn’t do much other than stare imposingly, albeit ineffectively, from across the table. Dismas had dealt with much more unpleasant company in his time, and remained largely unperturbed.

He cleaned off his bowl quickly and wordlessly stood to leave.

“Dismas, wait.”

The gunslinger sighed through his nose. “Yes?” he said impatiently.

Reynauld cleared his throat awkwardly. “I do not believe we will be friends,” he said, and Dismas very nearly rolled his eyes. “However,” the knight continued, “my actions last night were rude. I apologize.”

“Yes, yes, very well,” Dismas said dismissively. “Apology accepted, I suppose. Was that all?”

Reynauld blinked. “I- yes?” he replied, bemused.

“Then I’ll be on my way.”

And so Dismas left Reynauld, who was looking rather bewildered, and meandered up to his room, amused by the confusion on the knight’s face.

Dismas had learned early that petty grudges did little than to cause needless grief. It didn’t make him like Reynauld any more than he would, but it spared him a lot of bitterness and, apparently, left the knight floundering. Dislike and ill will were not mutually inclusive.

Grudges with intent to kill were an entirely different matter- he tried banished the idea before anything took root in his mind.

Dismas shut the door behind him and leaned back against it, head resting against the cool wood. He thumbed the leather sheath of his dirk, the texture smooth and familiar. 

Still, the shred of memory that had wormed its way into his mind was heavy and unrelenting, and he sighed and massaged his temples with one hand. 

He pushed off the door and collected his meager belongings, taking them from where he had left them to dry in front of the hearth the previous night. He took stock of them before he stashed them in his bag- a whetstone, a lucky coin, his gun maintenance supplies, an extra sheath, and a locket, gilded in gold. 

It had stopped raining, but even indoors Dismas could hear the winds blustering outside, so he re-tied his neckerchief up to his nose and flipped up the collar of his coat before slipping out and padding silently out the back door.

The church was easy to spot, even from a distance- the tall, sloping spire visible above the roofs of the other buildings. Dismas picked his way down the cobbled road, stones loose and uneven from neglect. The wind buffeted him from the side, and he tugged his collar a little higher to protect his ears.

It looked like he was in the commercial district of the town, if the lines of shops were anything to go by. The hour was early and there were scarce few people out and about, but he doubted that would change, eyeing the boarded windows and empty doors with no small trepidation.

He took note of the building as he neared the church. It was a rickety wooden thing, creaking with the force of the winds, and Dismas was mildly impressed that it was even standing at all. Half of the roof’s shingles seemed to be missing, and the the spire were stripped to its bare supports.

As he approached the massive double-doors of the church, Dismas caught sight of something most unwelcome- Ailith’s massive horse. The pale morning light made the hulking beast no less intimidating. The top of his head was barely clear of its withers by a couple inches, and the horse’s great head peered down at him with wide, unblinking eyes.

It was a fine animal, Dismas conceded. Its stark black coat was clean and its mane well-kept, and he briefly wondered how on earth Ailith managed to feed the massive thing. 

He trusted it about as far as he could throw it.

The horse nickered, as if laughing, and Dismas sent it a baleful glare before pushing past the abbey doors and entering.

The interior of the church was dimly lit by the sconces that lined the wall, and pews were arranged in neat, orderly rows, despite their poor state.

He spotted Ailith among those pews, head bowed as she talked quietly with another woman who was clad in the dull robes of the cloistered. At his entrance, both heads shot up, and Dismas caught a glimpse of the worried furrow of her brow before her expression brightened.

“Dismas!” Ailith called, smiling and waving him over. “I did not expect you here.”

“I far prefer your company to the knight’s,” Dismas replied dryly, tilting his head in greeting to the nun at the other’s side. “Good day, sister.”

The nun inclined her head in turn. She was around his age, perhaps a couple years younger than his thirty-six, and had soft features, skin worn and tan from years in the sun. She had a warm, relaxing air about her, almost motherly. 

Ailith glanced between them quickly. “I was informing Sister Junia of our ventures,” she explained, “and she was telling me of the town’s own plight.”

Curiosity piqued, Dismas settled into the pew next to them, leaning forward. “Oh?” he said. “And what might that be?”

“I fear the Blight has begun to affect our home,” the sister said gravely. “The manor to the north- you’ve seen it, surely- houses unearthly horrors. I’m worried it will… spread.”

He glanced at Ailith to gauge her reaction, and- ah, there it was. That same concerned furrow at her brow, the brief of pain in her eyes. This was something personal.

It was her home town, of course, Dismas thought, but he could not help but wonder.

“I see,” he said. “And how does that concern us?”

“I offered to lead an expedition into manor, see if there is a source,” Ailith said. “Ah- you are welcome to join, if you want.”

Dismas blinked. “You were going to go into the manor… by yourself,” he said slowly. 

“By myself-? Oh, no, Sister Junia was going to come with me,” Ailith said placatingly. “And just for a little while.”

“Hm,” Dismas said, and turned to the sister. “And what matter of horrors lurk in this manor?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Junia said hesitantly. “There have been… sightings, but most do not dare even approach the property. I have only heard rumors of the dead walking and madmen running amok.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. Two people to take on a house of horrors. Apparently Ailith was trying to kill herself long before they ever reached the capital. “Right,” he muttered. “Well, curiosity aside, storming a cursed manor seems unwise. Perhaps if you had more people-“

The great doors of the church creaked open, and the unmistakable clatter of armor made Dismas grimace. “Speak of the devil.”

“Miss Ailith,” Reynauld said, voice low and deep. “Sister.” He paused, eyeing Dismas dubiously. “Dismas.”

“Ah, Reynauld!” Ailith greeted brightly. “What brings you here?”

Dismas sighed.

\----

Reynauld was predictably enthusiastic about their newest undertaking, and, thoroughly outnumbered, Dismas reluctantly tagged along, if only to say “I told you so” when things inevitably went awry.

Ailith led the way on foot, having left her horse by the church, and cautiously picked her way down the ill-used path towards the massive wrought-iron gates that marked the beginning of the property. Reynauld followed close behind, Junia at his side, and Dismas lingered a few paces back, quietly surveying the area.

The manor’s size made it seem closer than it actually was. It was nestled in the far outskirts of the town, to the point it could barely be called within the limits. Late-autumn had not treated the land kindly- the few trees that grew there were dark, spindly things, stripped completely bare of leaves and twisted into unnatural shapes, and the landscape was awash with dull grays and browns, dead grass and mud cold beneath their feet.

Ailith suddenly stopped, eyes narrowing. “Do you see that?” she asked.

Dismas peered into the distance. By the gates, there was a tiny, dark figure, seated at the base and hunched over something in their lap.

“Curious,” Junia murmured. “Most of the townspeople stay far away from this place. The old Lovell estate is considered to be cursed, and now with the monsters...”

Dismas blinked. The Lovell estate? He glanced at the noblewoman in question. Was this the childhood home Ailith had mentioned the night before? He couldn’t imagine that she had stayed there the night before, and, judging by the knight’s furrowed brow, Reynauld was having similar thoughts.

Ailith frowned and quickened her pace.

The silhouette took shape as they neared. Slight of figure, Dismas noted, underneath the heavy dark robes. A bone-white mask with round, eerie lenses in place of eyes and a curved beak peered up from beneath a hood.

“You- you weren’t here yesterday,” Ailith said.

The stranger scoffed. “Of course not,” they said, voice muffled behind their mask. “I arrived this morning.” They spoke in an odd, clipped fashion, their words coming out just a little too fast, as if they were just barely keeping up with their thoughts. 

“It’s unsafe here,” Junia said. “Perhaps you should-”

“I’m well aware,” the doctor snapped impatiently. The voice was distinctly feminine, Dismas thought, and she rose up to her full- rather meager- height, a notebook snapping shut in her hands. “I came here with a purpose. Obviously.”

Dismas arched a brow and Junia blinked, looking put off. 

“Now,” the stranger said, head tilting in a way that implied she was glaring, “if are quite done wasting my time?”

The entire group seemed to flounder for a response and Dismas huffed. 

“Going in alone is a death wish,” he said dryly. 

“Yes, yes,” the doctor said flippantly. “And I assume your presence has a relevance of some sort? Or do you simply make a habit of going to dangerous places and intruding on other people’s time?”

Dismas couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that escaped him. Oh, he liked this one.

“We’re here to… investigate the Blight,” Ailith said finally, apparently having collected her thoughts. “See if we can help the townspeople.”

The doctor seemed to perk up at that, head cocking like a bird who had spotted something particularly shiny. “You are entering the manor?” she asked excitedly.

“Yes?” Ailith said, once again thrown off by the abrupt change in demeanor.

“I’ll join you, then,” the doctor said with finality.

Ailith, absolutely bewildered, stared for a moment. Dismas fought down a snicker.

“Why in God’s name would you do that?” the noblewoman asked finally.

“Why not?” the doctor countered, almost childishly. “If we are all going the same way, then you might as well accept my offer.”

Ailith shot Dismas a pleading, exasperated look, and he shrugged. “You did say we couldn’t afford to be picky when it comes to company,” he offered.

She sighed through her nose, taking a moment to look thoroughly defeated. “Then may we at least know your name?” she asked.

The doctor drew up straight and not very tall. She came up to about Dismas’ chin. Maybe. “I am Paracelsus,” she said smugly. “Scholar, doctor, and alchemist. Now, are we going to continue dawdling or can we finally get on with it?”

Dismas snorted. Heroes indeed, he thought, glancing at Ailith’s entirely helpless expression. They were a motley crew at best, and a gaggle of fools rushing headlong to their own demise at worst. 

Still, he couldn’t help but think that this was a better life than what he had before. Dying for a good cause didn’t seem like a particularly terrible way to go.


	3. the expedition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3, eight months later, because I'm awful like that  
> thank you for waiting, hope it meets your expectations!

The Lovell manor, was, predictably, one of the oldest, dustiest, most decrepit places Dismas ever had the displeasure of entering- which, considering his former line of work, spoke volumes. It smelled as musty as it looked, with nearly two decades of rot and mold, and he surreptitiously adjusted his neckerchief over his nose.

Ailith took point as they entered the main hall, a torch held high, with Reynauld one step to her right and half a pace back, and Junia slightly further to her left. The doctor- Paracelsus, Dismas reminded himself absently- flit from one place to another, barely staying within range of the fire's light, her dark clothing blending in with the gloom and murky shadows.

Dismas himself settled at the rear of the group, one hand on the handle of his dirk and the other on the holster of his pistol and his eyes as restless as his nerves.

"Do you have any idea where these monsters come from?" Ailith was asking Junia, brow furrowed as she took in their surroundings.

The nun shook her head. "Only that they seem to appear around this area," she said. "And considering the origins of this place- well. It only seemed right to assume."

Dismas tsk'd. "Assumptions will only get us killed," he said, "and I'd rather not die so early into our noble quest."

Ailith shot him a withering look and he shrugged.

"What are these monsters like?" Paracelsus butt in. "Any notable features? Evidence of magical control? How often and how many at a time-"

Reynauld coughed and Paracelsus paused, staring expectantly at Junia.

The sister took a moment to collect herself after the barrage of questions. "The monsters appear to be… undead," she said. "Skeletons, mostly. I am unfamiliar with that branch of magic, so I'm afraid that I do not have much more information than that- only that they started appearing just two months ago, and sightings have increased recently."

"Fascinating!" Paracelsus muttered, seemingly to herself. "Skeletons? Necromancy, then. Increased frequency could be due to increased competency of the caster. Must find how they are able to maintain mobility without muscle and ligaments…" She trailed off, her mumbles becoming inaudible, and Dismas raised an eyebrow. Of all the doctors to pick up, they had found one that was clearly mad.

"It could be that a necromancer has taken up residence in the manor," Reynauld speculated. "Perhaps they relied on the rumors to keep the curious away as they practiced their craft."

"Perhaps," Ailith said, then sighed. "Fighting off a necromancer could prove troublesome."

"If the alternative is that the Blight has spread to this point, then one mage is a meager challenge in comparison," Dismas offered.

Junia hummed in agreement, a hand dropping to her belt- drawing Dismas' gaze to the heavy, spiked mace that hung there.

Ailith took a step and paused, sweeping her torch. There was a faded portrait on the nearest wall, grimy and faded. Dismas could make out the silhouette of a seated man, the faintest traces of a stern, cold face, and then Ailith moved away, taking the light with her, and portrait vanished into the gloom. There was bitter twist to her mouth that wasn't there before.

"There is a cellar below us," Ailith said, tapping the stone floor with her foot, "and above us are the bedrooms and study. Any preferences for which to search first?"

Dismas grimaced. "As much as I hate to say it," he said, "I have a sneaking suspicion that we'll find all we need down below."

Paracelsus shoved her way past him- tried to, more accurately, as her full weight felt like little more than a child's, but Dismas obligingly stepped out of her way- and made a bee-line for Ailith. "You mentioned a study?" she said, in a tone that Dismas was rapidly becoming familiar with. "Could there be possibly be anything left by the court magician?"

"Doubtful," Ailith said, her voice a little too tight to be normal. "He practiced in the capital, not in his distant relatives' homes."

The doctor huffed in disappointment, oblivious to Ailith's discomfort. "Fine," she sniffed. "Then underground will be first."

"If I may, Miss Ailith," Reynauld said, "I should lead if we expect resistance." The corners of his armor gleamed bright under the torchlight, steel-silver highlighted with gold.

Practically a beacon, Dismas thought dryly. At least they would know who would be targeted first.

"Of course," Ailith said, handing off the torch to the knight and falling into step beside him. "Here, the entrance is this way."

Junia sent her an odd look. "You seem… familiar with this place," she said.

Dismas shared a glance with Reynauld.

Ailith smiled stiffly. "This was my home, many years ago," she said. "It hasn't changed much."

Junia's eyes went wide. "Oh my," she said.

Paracelsus' head whipped around, the shining lenses of her mask zeroing on Ailith like an eagle to a mouse. "You-" she started, paused. "You must tell me, does magic run in your bloodline or is it a spontaneous mutation? What is your level of competency in magic? Are you capable of the feats the court magician performed? How-"

" _Enough_ ," Reynauld thundered, and everyone jolted, startled. "There will be time for your inquiries at a later date, _doctor_ , but we are here for a reason. Cease your disturbance or be left behind."

Paracelsus quieted immediately, chastised, and Dismas raised a brow, a grudging respect for the paladin rising in his chest.

"Ah- thank you, Reynauld," Ailith said awkwardly. "Then I suppose- that is, we should continue onward. This way."

Ailith trot ahead, the knight at her side, and led them deeper into the mansion. The shadows seemed to creep closer the further the went despite the torch, and chills prickled the back of Dismas' neck.

"Here," Ailith said. "These stairs lead down."

Dismas squinted. The doorway was smaller than most of the ones they had passed- it looked like it would barely accommodate Reynauld, given his armor- and the door itself ripped and splintered from its hinges. He couldn't see much past the murky darkness.

"Some adventure," he muttered into his neckerchief.

The knight, ever gallant, started the descent without further prompting, the torch washing the grimy walls into a flickering, yellow cast, and the rest of their merry little band fell into step behind him.

The descent was short-lived, thankfully. Dismas didn't think they went more than a dozen feet down. The ceiling was a little low, but nobody had to bend down, and the walls were cramped but manageable. The stairs soon leveled and widened to a hallway, and Ailith strode up to Reynauld's side to guide them.

The hallway seemed never ending, dust and cobwebs covering every surface. Crates were piled haphazardly against the walls, sagging bookshelves and cracked cabinets leaning against the stone.

"What the hell was this place?" Dismas muttered.

"Storage, mostly," Ailith replied. "I can imagine secret meetings of all sorts took place here. I, however-" she paused briefly. "I used to come down here as a child and pretend to be an adventurer, exploring the ruins of some ancient castle."

"Ruins, to be sure," Junia said. "These tunnels must span miles."

"Aye," Ailith said. "Below the whole property, not just the manor itself."

Dismas groaned. "Then how will we find a single necromancer in a maze like this?"

"It's large, but not unnavigable," Ailith said consolingly. "It's a grid system, with regular openings back to the surface and several large rooms. And if my hunch is right, the necromancer would have hidden in the central hub, where they would have the most access to the whole property."

"A fair assessment," Reynauld acquiesced.

Dismas frowned. "I'll scout ahead."

Ailith blinked. "A torch-" she started.

"No need," Dismas said. "I'll be back shortly. We're heading straight forward, yes?"

Ailith nodded hesitantly, and he dipped his head in acknowledgement before slipping away from the group, the worn leather soles of his boots silent against the cold stone floors.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Admittedly, there wasn't much to see- dust and cobwebs, crates, the occasional piece of derelict furniture.

The torch reduced to a pinprick of light behind him, Dismas pressed on, footsteps light and quick. The sounds of his breathing, even muffled by soft cloth of his neckerchief, seemed to echo around the corridor.

His hands flexed impatiently, the leather of his gloves creaking under the pressure. It seemed colder without the light, meek and flickering as it was.

Dismas paused at an intersection, the paths branching at right angles. He held his breath, listening intently. The faint whistle of a breeze, the low creak of wood and stone.

Dismas froze.

Faintly, to his right, he heard… shuffling. He strained to listen, slowing his breaths and ignoring the thump of his heartbeat.

Footsteps, he thought. Slow and dragging, but definitely footsteps. He crept forward, crouching low to the ground.

There was a door ahead, possibly to one of the rooms Ailith had mentioned, and he sidled closer, barely daring to breathe. Sure enough, the source- sources, he amended- of the footsteps were just past the entrance, accompanied by creaking and scraping, and the occasional rattle.

Well then. He had expected skeletons, and it sounded like he got skeletons.

"Great," he muttered.

Back to the group then, to inform them of this new venture, and Dismas turned and fled back the way he came, his pace an easy jog.

The torch flickered into view soon enough, and Dismas slowed, rolling his shoulders and tugging at his gloves.

"Intersection ahead," he said as soon as they were in earshot. "There's a room to the right, and there's definitely something in it."

"How many 'somethings?'" Ailith asked dubiously.

Dismas bit his tongue. "A lot."

Ailith grimaced. "The next right, you said? There's another path around- it will take longer, but it's doable."

"I don't quite like the idea of leaving our backs open for an ambush when another party fancies calling for backup," Dismas commented dryly.

"You want to confront them?" Reynauld said, a note of disbelief coloring his voice.

"Better to face them now than be stabbed in the back later," Dismas replied.

"I agree," Paracelsus chirped. "It could allow us to evaluate the enemies we will likely encounter in the future, if it is indeed a necromancer causing this mess."

There was a beat, and Dismas half-expected the doctor to ramble on, but, apparently content with her piece, settled back, the green-black of her robes shifting like a murky shadow.

Reynauld frowned. "Sister Junia? Miss Ailith?" he prompted.

"While I do not disagree with the intent," the sister said slowly, "I believe there might be a better way to continue forward- but our options are few and far between. Should you choose to meet these enemies head on, I will stand by you."

"Well," Ailith said. "It seems we have a consensus. Unless, Reynauld-?"

"No," he said. "I have no complaints."

Ailith smiled, but it was tense. "We go onward, then." She swung the quarterstaff from her back in one easy motion, dark wood capped in steel, and Junia's hand dropped down the shaft of her mace. Paracelsus cocked her head, producing a wicked looking knife from the depths of her robe.

Reynauld turned, dark eyes steady. There was no trace of fear as he hefted his shield. "Onward."

* * *

 

The short distance to the intersection seemed to last an eternity with the promise of a battle looming overhead. Dismas ran his thumb along the hammer of his flintlock, his spare holstered at his hip and his dirk sheathed at his thigh.

Then, in an instant, they faced the door.

"Sister," Reynauld said, "if you would." He offered the torch to Junia, who accepted it with good grace, and then drew his longsword. The blade gleamed gold in the firelight. He turned to face them. "If our suspicions are correct and what we face are undead, please leave the fighting to me and Sister Junia," he said gravely. "We are well-versed in the destruction of the unholy."

Dismas scoffed. "And leave all the fun to you?"

Reynauld blinked, and Ailith gave a tiny huff of laughter.

"It's a bit late to try to bear the burden by yourself," she said. "We will all fight with you."

Paracelsus muttered something under her breath as she checked the pouches at her belt. Dismas elbowed her discreetly.

Reynauld seemed taken aback. "I- very well," he managed. "Together, then."

Then he opened the door.

The room was massive- far larger than Dismas could have ever expected. Bones were strewn across the ground, the cracked, splintered remains of pews laid out in rows like a mockery of a congregation. A statue of an angel, taller than even Reynauld, towered across the room, by the door that undoubtedly led to their escape.

And then there were the skeletons.

"Oh dear," Ailith murmured.

And by the Divine, Dismas thought, whoever this necromancer was, they were building an _army_.

Like one mind, dozens of empty sockets turned to face them, rattling and creaking.

Reynauld strode forward unflinchingly, Junia barely a step behind, mace in hand and torch held high.

"Foul creatures," the knight said, cold and composed, sword aloft, "return from where you came. The living hold no love for you."

One skeleton took a slow, jerky step, limbs limp and unnatural and the tip of its sword dragging against the stone floor, and another- and like a signal, the rest surged into action.

The skeletons moved a pace no quicker than a dedicated stroll, shambling and awkward, but with their numbers, losing a beat would mean falling victim to a dozen blows.

But Dismas, if anything, was quick. He fired his first shot, retreating back as he reloaded, sharp eyes flitting across the room. The skeletons had little- scraps of leather-padded armor and weapons that looked old enough to be buried with them. Several wore robes that whispered of a long-dead decadence, the insignia of nobility embroidered on their clothes-

Dismas' blood ran cold. What better place to raise the dead, he thought, than the house of a massacre of an entire bloodline?

He risked a glance at Ailith, but her eyes were cold and focused, mouth set to a grim line.

She knew, without a doubt- perhaps she had even suspected it, with the first mention of the necromancer- but her well being would have to come later, Dismas decided, ducking under the clumsy swing of a skeletal soldier and shooting it point-blank. He backed up further, taking refuge behind the veritable monolith of Reynauld and his armor.

Both the knight's longsword and the sister's mace were devastatingly effective against the skeletons, bone splintering like dry wood under their blows, and Ailith's steel-capped quarterstaff dealt enough blunt force to fend off the meager few that passed them.

Dismas and the doctor stayed a few paces behind, backs nearly to the wall, and Dismas took advantage of the ample space to fire freely at the approaching undead. A single shot to the skull was enough to separate it from the neck, and firing at the limbs crippled and slowed them enough to make finishing them off easy work for the others.

Paracelsus reached into her satchel, and Dismas barely caught a glimpse of the round, glass flask and the bright, sickly green liquid inside before she threw it towards a group of skeletons, tightly clustered together, and they began to melt.

Noxious smoke rose from the impact, obscuring everything but the silhouettes as their outlines faltered and dripped to the ground, until they were little more than a pile of half-melted bones and armor.

"The hell is that?" Dismas barked.

"Concentrated Blight," Paracelsus said. "Highly effective on various organics, including bone."

"Blight?" he sputtered.

The doctor huffed. "Perfectly stable. Would not be able to bottle it, otherwise. The clouds will dissipate in a few minutes. Simply do not stand in it."

"While I'm sure the good doctor's explanation is fascinating," Ailith called, sounding strained, "some assistance would be greatly appreciated."

Dismas whipped around, firing on a straggler that approached the noblewoman's side as she slammed her staff into chest of the skeleton at her front, before she backstepped to avoid a swing from its cudgel.

"There's no end to these damned creatures!" Junia shouted. "We need to get past them!"

"It's as good a plan as any," Dismas grunted. "Better than just waiting here."

Reynauld shouldered ahead, sweeping his sword in a wide arc. Ailith darted in behind him, Junia close behind, and Dismas covered them with a few well-placed shots as they forged ahead, weaving between broken pews.

"Up here!" Reynauld called. "The door!"

Paracelsus hurried towards them, the path mostly cleared for the moment, and Dismas fell into step behind her, halfway through reloading his pistol. They had barely cleared half the length of the room when one skeleton lunged for them, far more quickly than Dismas had seen them move yet, and Paracelsus flinched and stumbled. The skeleton flung its cudgel, and the doctor sidestepped a moment too late, the blunt end catching her shoulder as it flew past.

Dismas swore and darted forward, unsheathing his dirk and stabbing it in the neck. It's skull disconnected from its spine with a snap, like popping off the head off wooden toy, and he turned back to haul Paracelsus to her feet before more could close in.

"We're going _right now_ ," Dismas told her, and it took the doctor a few uncertain steps before she fully righted herself and started running for the door.

They narrowly dodged a thrown goblet of- wine? Blood? Dismas honestly didn't really care to find out- and dove for the door. Paracelsus went sprawling, and Dismas' landing was slightly more dignified, rolling into a crouch as Reynauld slammed the heavy wooden door shut and overturned a nearby bookshelf to block it for good measure.

"Divines above," Ailith gasped. "That was _awful_."

"Ugh," said Dismas emphatically.

There was a thud from the other side and Dismas stiffened, aiming his pistol, and the door shuddered but remained fast.

"I believe," Reynauld said, "that it may be within our best interests to push on."

"So much for clearing out the area," Junia said, wiping sweat from her brow. "How long has the necromancer been down here, to summon a horde like that? We are all uninjured, I hope?"

"Not all of us," Dismas snorted, tilting his head towards Paracelsus. The doctor squawked indignantly as she attempted to scramble to her feet.

"It's nothing," she said, even as she tentatively pressed a hand to her shoulder. "A small fracture, at most."

"Allow me," Junia said smoothly. She ran a palm over Paracelsus' shoulder. Without warning, her hand glowed gold, radiated warmth like a heart, and dimmed as abruptly as it started.

"A small fracture indeed," she said. "It will be best for you to rest it as soon as this is over, but it will hold for the meantime."

The doctor stared, head cocked. "Fascinating," she said, in _that_ tone. "Magic-?"

"White magic, taught to clerics," Junia interrupted before the tirade was let loose. "It is commonly taught to men and women of the cloth, though few master it. Shall we?" She helped Paracelsus to her feet gently, and Dismas took the moment of respite to approach Ailith.

"Miss Ailith," he began hesitantly. She looked up at him, eyes tired.

"Dismas," she said, voice warm. "Is there something you need?"

He sighed. "It is unfortunate," he said quietly, "that a necromancer would choose to resurrect the remains of your family."

Her breath caught in her throat. She took a moment to gather herself, hands balled into fists. "Clever of you," she said, "to figure it out so quickly."

He shrugged. "Magic is not omnipotent," he said. "Even with the power to reanimate the dead, there must be bodies to reanimate."

Ailith took a deep, shuddering breath. "And?" she said. "Why bring it up?"

"How long did you suspect?" Dismas asked.

The young woman lowered her head. "When we first entered the town," she said. "It was... not like this when I left."

"And last night?" he asked. "Did you come here by yourself?"

Ailith nodded, not meeting his eyes. "I went to- to see for myself," she murmured. "I found nothing, but there were traces- of magic. Of the desecration of their bodies."

Dismas exhaled, and, for the first time, was struck by _young_ Ailith was. She couldn't have been more than twenty-three, if even that. Barely more than a toddler when her family was massacred, wiped from the earth like spilt wine.

He pat her head with a gloved hand. "Next time," he said, "don't run off all by yourself on a whim. I'd prefer you stay alive long enough to end the Blight."

Ailith blinked, looking up at him owlish, and Dismas offered her a small grin. "Like you said," he told her. "You shouldn't bear this burden by yourself. You wanted heroes, after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like my writing gets more flowery and purple-prosy with each chapter- and the dialogue somehow manages to get even cornier (especially reynauld's. what a dork.)


End file.
